


6000 years in the making

by Demon_owns_a_Bentley



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Boyfriends, Demon, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-29 04:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demon_owns_a_Bentley/pseuds/Demon_owns_a_Bentley
Summary: Crowley has no idea that Aziraphale is in love with him.Can the Demon really crack the secret that the other has kept for the last 6000 years?





	1. Part 1.

21:32

22:14

22:46

23:50

00:01

21 days.

It really had been 21 days, Crowley wondered as he lazily browsed through his phone, hissing between his teeth as the familiar irritation began to manifest within.  
"21 fucking days, bastard" unable to get any rest, not that he needed it, the demon flung his sheet away to climb out of bed. A lazy display of damned intervention changed the minimum fabric draped over his slender frame, into clothing suitable for mortals to see him in. Even at midnight, humans never seemed to sleep, not just in this century but even centuries before, before electricity, many years prior to modern lighting, humans prowled the streets at night, so Crowley couldn't be seen naked in public, not even in his prized Bentley would be be seen naked, not that he would dishrace the leather of the driver's sit with a pair of bare butt cheeks anyway. 

Another wave of his hand to fix his red mane of tangled bed head hair, to a slightly less messy appearing mane of bed creased hair. It was fashionable to have hair displayed in this manner, not that he cared about it. Okay, if he was totally honest with himself, he did mildly care, purely for blending in purposes. Crowley couldn't wear clothes from a 100 years ago and still attempt to blend in the masses of modern day London, unlike a certain silent bastard still tending to the same coat from the 1800s.

Last touch was those glasses, for more years then he cared to count, coloured glass in frames shaded his eyes from the masses, they shielded his bold yellow iris paired with slitted red pupils. For Heaven sakes, mortals walked around with coloured plastic sitting on their eye balls out of choice now-a-days, so maybe he could get away with it, just like in the old, old days of early humanity, but now it simply boiled down to habit. 

People like Crowley didn't have a need for house keys, or even car keys for that matter, no one would dare break into his place or steal this car. A beautiful 90 year old sweetheart of black and grey paint and pitch black leather. These same tires have screeched around London since he brought it back in the 1920s, and once again they screamed their typical signature squeal as he drove his prized beauty around the streets once again.

Artificial lights were a blur but it didn't hurt his eyes, he rarely blinked afterall. He paid more attention to the brightly lit shop windows than the road, driving at more of a motorway speed than casually window browsing speed, all looked too modern for his liking, well, they were all very appealing, but not for what he had in mind at picking up at nearly one o'clock on a Wednesday morning. There was no such thing as opening and closing hours to a man such as himself after all. 

Whatever CD was playing in the background didnt matter, he wasn't even listening to it at this point, but with every tap his finger made on the steering wheel it changed the song to whichever had a sound more subtle to be classed as background noise.   
"Finally" hissed a word through gritted teeth as a sharp turn of the wheel took his Bentley up a one way street, of course, going the wrong way. One way systems were his idea, irritating more drivers when they're forced, by law, to go the long way around to get to a destination. His creation, his idea, but not something he ever stuck to, he may have six millennia under his belt but why waste time with sticking to the laws of the road? That's something for Angels and mortals to do.

With the Bentley perched perfectly on the pavement, the engine cut off and Crowley stepped out, slamming the door shut and prowled over to the locked up dark window of a back street book shop. It looked tacky, dusty, forgotten by the busy streets of London but it was ideal. Its strong padlocks simply unclicked, dropping to the floor of their own, allowing a once locked door to simply fall back on its hinges, which clearly needed more oil. Lights flicked on as teeth bit into his bottom lip while trying to think of a title, yet none came to mind. 

"Bollocks" another hissed word while he dodged around the various shelves and little tables filled with books of countless titles and authors. Towards the back he found more traditional appearing books, classics apparently, one of them would do perfectly. But none of them really struck a nerve with him, even after scanning the rows lazily several times over. But to his side, now that was an appealing creation. A leather bound book in a glass case, old, a first edition apparently, Crowley didn't even bother reading the title or even who wrote the bloody thing, the glass door opened with a slide and it was safely tucked under his arm and within seconds he reached the door, only to pause, passing a side wards glance to the item at his side.

"I'm a demon, stealing is fine" mumbled words to himself, yet no more steps were taken towards the entrance. Instead he found himself flicking through his wallet, lazily gathering some paper notes and left it on the counter, demons steal, well, no one would find out he brought it instead, not that he paid much for it, maybe half its actual price tag, but needless to say, the book was still technically brought, technically stolen, sort of.

Again the singing tone of Bentley tires faded into the rest of the noise of the city of London, not giving it a second thought of if he even locked that shop up before leaving with his prize. Didn't matter. He got what he wanted. If it wasn't locked up, let the mortals who own it deal with it. Robbery in this city certainly wasn't anything new anyway. 

Winding down the oh so familiar streets of Soho, Crowley parked his car in his usual spot. His lawfully unofficial, but privately official car parking spot in front of yet another book shop, this one with wide double doors and the most erratic opening times anywhere within the city. The lights were out, no surprise, those doors locked, but Crowley had his own key, one of those demonic skeleton keys that opened any door or lock he wanted, whenever he wanted.

One opened with a gentle push and lights filled the shop floor as if on command.   
"Oi Angel" he called out, his voice echoing throughout the room but got greeted with nothing but silence in return. Again, his voice bounced off the books to break the irritating paperfilled abyss of this shop floor.

What truly broke the quiet and halted any attempt of a third, more verbally aggressive shout out, was the ambient sound of foot steps decending from the staff only staircase. After six millennia Crowley knew those delicate movements, and also that the Angel he sort of called company wasn't in a greeting kind of mood.

"Crowley what in the Hell are you doing at this hour?" Aziraphale scrutinised rather aggressively, for an angel anyway, as he appeared from behind a book case dressed rather formally even if it was simply night clothes.

"Well..." what could he say without sounding rather, well more of an Angel then the accidently damned creature that he was. That deep down, deep deep down in his mind, the three week silence caused him some benign concern. After all its perfectly acceptable to break into two bookshops after midnight, just to see why someone hadn't replied to a text in twenty-one days. Demons don't handle ignorance well. That's it. Demons don't want to be openly ignored, Crowley certainly was not worried. People such as Crowley do not worry for others. Angels worry. Demons, well, simply do not want to be vexed. That's it. That was this serpent's issue. He was vexed. 

"You damned ignorant bastard, you ignored me for weeks" perhaps that came out a bit too strong. At least his voice portrayed his intent. Vexation. Pure vexation at two o'clock on a Wednesday morning. 

"Ah... Yes" muttered Aziraphale almost mutely.   
"I was sent on a sudden job by the office, in my hast, I actually forgot to pick up my phone, I do apologise, I planned on replying in the morning Crowley, I didn't want to disturb you at this hour" a gentle smile was worn on those lips as the Angel clarified his digital absence.

Crowley however, felt humiliated. Well, not quite humiliation that's an over reaction. Demons don't feel humiliation or such things. Still vexation seated within his stomach. So he simply stood there in his relaxed posture, book tucked firmly under his arm.

"Sorry if I caused you to worry" 

"I wasn't worried" the Demon snapped back. But this typical reaction simply made that smile grow more warmly. Aziraphale knew the truth, but wouldn't push the matter. To break this line of awkward conversation, Crowley approached and with a firm shove, thrust that book into the chest of its new owner.   
"Here, the real reason I came over" a lie. Definitely.

Aziraphale's eyes scanned over this item suddenly within his arms, fingertips traced the cover in gentle examination.   
"It's beautiful... Wait, did you steal this? Crowley you know how I feel about stolen goods"   
"It's not stolen, I brought it" an eyebrow raised in obvious confusion, but the content demon just shrugged it all off, after all he was actually proud of buying it but certainly wouldn't boast over it all. Demons buying things? Whatever has the world come to.   
"You brought this?"

"I brought it Angel, don't panic and molt a feather over it, that's not stolen, technically" curiosity had won over the Angelic individual, it was clear as hell fire he desired a solid definition to the question if this book was stolen or not. Which it was however it also wasn't. So in a vague round-a-bout way Crowley explained the events of his sleepless night, deliberately avoiding particular details such as which shop, not paying the full price tag and if he left the place open or not. 

It appeared that this was enough to extinguish any further flicker of curiosity, thankfully. Aziraphale continued to hold this book close to himself, cradling it to his chest once again.   
"Well, thank you very much, it's greatly appreciated"  
"Don't make this awkward" Crowley replied in his usual manner, shoving both hands in his jeans pockets. With now knowing the ignorant Angel was in fact nothing but forgetful, a mild hissed sigh left his throat as he turned away, time to go back to his bed and perhaps sleep this time. Yet a hand had gripped onto his shoulder, it was gentle, lacking a squeeze enough to actually stop him from breaking away if he wanted to, but he halted from moving forward towards the door regardless.   
"What?"

"It's late Crowley, perhaps I could persuade you to stay" the demon's figure simply folded into itself in reluctance, shoulders hunched over as his body shifted from one side to the other in a crude manner.   
"Its humiliating" he added with a glance behind him.   
"I used it once when drunk, you need a bigger flat for fuck sake" he hissed through gritted teeth. Crowley didn't want to, however, he never actually said the word 'no' to the invitation either.   
"Please" Aziraphale stated rather fondly, in that typical gentle tone of his whether they discussed something damned and divine around the ears of mortals, sort of like a whisper just in case someone was in fact listening in on them.   
"Fine, whatever, I'll stay but you're buying breakfast, manipulative bastard" 

"Deal, but, I'm not manipulating you, you know how I-"   
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it a million times, blah blah fucking blah, historical building, blah blah I get it, shut up already" Crowley spat back as he almost slithered past, prowling around the book cases to climb those staff only stairs. This building had some historical significance that prohibited any changes to it's structure, well, by mortal law it was a listed building, but it mostly boiled down to a stubborn Angel owner wanting to keep it as close to the day he brought it as possible. So, no extra bedroom for a demon to invade, perhaps if there wasn't so many books then maybe there could be enough space in a corner somewhere for a single bed. But Hell would freeze over before Aziraphale would part with any of his books for something as simple as an extra bed.

He knew these corridors well, they led to where the Angel spent most of his time, Crowley took the lead opening the last door to the right. Inside, lights already gave off a faint glow, everything was far too white, cream or beige for his tastes, throw in some black or even red and maybe, just maybe, he might feel a bit more at home within these walls. However one corner was noticeably darker than the others, a rather transparent cloth had tried to cover a strong shade of sombre wood standing firmly from the floor, almost as if it was levitating. Once that rather ugly fabric had been ripped away, a cabinet of fine black wood with glass doors sat firmly on a beige table, that colour clash alone was offensive to his eyes.   
"Oi Angel... I still can't believe you have this" he tutted, removing his signature glasses and leaving them on the top of this oddly coloured item.

"I've told you before, it's called a vivarium, it's what mortals use to keep snakes as pets"   
"Pretty fucking disturbing if you ask me, keeping us locked up in a box like wild animals" with a gentle slide Crowley pushed one of the doors open, choosing to ignore that replied comment of 'but snakes are wild animals'.

How long had it been since Crowley exchanged his skin for serpent scales, he simply couldn't remember, yet his body elongated regardless, stretched itself out gracefully into that strong, sombre silhouette of a dangerous appearing snake. Without any effort his limbless frame climbed into this pet snake prison and settled within the plastic hide, resting his head at the entrance. Everything smelled of wood, soft wood chips littered the floor of his bedroom enclosure. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad to spend one night feeling surprising secure like this. 

Aziraphale slid the glass gently with a smile to lock the demon within this box with glass doors. Well, he could easily escape if wanted too but it was the thought that counted he supposed.   
"Good night" the only reply Crowley decided to offer in a response was his head lifted a bit and that forked tongue flickered out of his mouth. Serpent eyes watched as those lights all turned off in a single moment, both divine and damned creatures were in the pitch black of a single room together. Yet, a strange thought crossed the demon's mind as he curled up tighter into a ball, using his own cold blooded body as a pillow. Aziraphale owned a double bed, why sleep in a box when a bed easily big enough for two was just a few feet away.

The night seemed to progress slowly, ever so stupidly slowly, yet sleep hadn't taken over him. It wasn't due to being uncomfortable, wood chips was in fact rather cosy for this slender form. This whole box felt cold, bitterly frozen. It had been so long since he had taken this form Crowley had indeed forgotten what he required in this outward appearance, warmth. With an amount of surprising grace for such a bulky body, Crowley opened the glass door, falling down to the ground with a heavy thud. Serpentine senses led him to the closest source of heat, sliding under that grotesque white sheet to receive immediate warmth on his stomach scales. A forked tongue flickered a few times as his body dragged itself into a ball again, head tucked under a coil of muscle. Sweet, sweet heat caused immediate relief from the frigid air.


	2. Part 2

Snakes don't blink. Well, more accurately they can't blink, they don't have eye lids capable of such a physical action. However, if Crowley could batter his eyelids in confusion right now he would. The demon remained in his fairly tight ball of serpentine muscle for the night, as far as he was aware anyway. Yet, he didn't feel incased in cheap cotton anymore, whatever was under his bulk and resting over his back felt softer, much more of a tender feeling texture to his scales than before. A forked tongue flickered a few times, he knew this smell. Even after not detecting this particular scent in Satan knows how long, there was no mistaking it. He had hoped it was nothing more than a dream, other wise, an awkward conversation or more accurately, a celestial one sided nagging would burn his ear off before it was even time for breakfast. 

Crowley's nose brushed against that smooth surface above his head, so his small snout could bury itself into that smooth touch texture. This certainly wasn't cotton, it was warm in a tender sort of way, it's scent was so familiar and completely alien to every other fragrance on this planet.  
"Good afternoon Crowley" muttered a very conscious sounding Angel.  
"Please do me a rather essential favour and get off my wing you're giving it cramp" So it wasn't a dream. Somehow, Crowley had made his serpent body curl up between two large crystal white wings, the ones that belonged to his celestial... Well the correct term would be companion, even after six thousand years together, could a Demon really call an Angel a companion? 

Either way all Crowley could think of was he was fucked. Sleeping between two Angel wings, what kind of Demon sleeps together with 'the enemy' anyway. Yet, it really was no surprise that the base under his scaled stomach felt so luxurious.

"Crowley, please, don't go to sleep I really would appreciate having my wing back" the Angel persisted, this time having a mild hint of desperation within his request. Not wanting to be nagged any more, Crowley's body unwound itself, slipped off those delicate feathers onto that obviously manufactured smelling carpet. Nothing was as pure scented or as tender to his scales as that warm feather bed he found himself on.

No longer wanting to remain in this limbless appearance, the Demon's body raised itself up towards the ceiling, it's length shortening and limbs appearing almost out of no where. At least this form meant not having bed head hair. Crowley let out what could only be described as a rather pleasured moan as his regained limbs stretched, muscles feeling relieved at being back in his natural anatomy.  
"Fuck me, it's been far too long since I did that" he muttered mostly to himself in all honesty as thoae shaded glasses found themselves back onto the bridge of his nose.  
"So, Angel what's for breakfast?" he asked, as finally he glanced back to his company.

Aziraphale sat perched on the edge of his bed, head laid low by resting in the palms of his hands. Even those celestial white wings remained out, spread over the bed in a haphazard way, definitely not appearing comfortable.  
"Angel?" he prodded, taking a single step closer. But when he didn't receive a response, Crowley gently poked that shoulder closest to him, only for his hand to be swatted away unexpectedly. But before he could even blink about whatever in the name of Heaven was going on, that limb which was battered away was encased in two warm, tender hands in what could only be described as an apologetic manner.  
"I'm sorry Crowley, I should not of hit you"

All the Demon could think about doing was sitting by his companion's side, still letting his hand being held rather tightly. Those beautiful white wings shifted rather silently, raising to a more comfortable position yet one wrapped around his shoulders enveloping his seated frame in feathers. White just wasn't his colour, it just didn't mix well with his flame like hair.

No one knew how long they sat there, two Angelic hands held tenderly onto one with a blanket of weathers still wrapped around them both. Crowley had no idea on what to say, while Aziraphale apparently needed time to think. Six thousand years together allowed them to sit like this, hand in hand in comfortable silence without either questioning the other regarding what this was all about.

Finally Aziraphale shifted, a sigh escaping him, one that sounded weak, troubled, almost like whatever he was about to say, he didn't want to say, but needed to say it.  
"Get it off your chest" Crowley suggested with soft tone to his voice, one that he found he only ever used behind closed doors, but only behind closed doors when his millennia companion was with him.  
"Crowley" he started but paused for a moment.  
"Crowley... You were meant to sleep in your vivarium" all that waiting just for that? No. That couldn't be it. Could it? 

All this serpent like male could do is shrug a bit before speaking up for himself. "You left the heating off, I got cold"  
"Honestly, you could of just turned it on yourself" suggested Aziraphale with a look of that reason just wasn't good enough. And it probably wasn't. But snakes need heat, even Demonic ones that caused Eve to take the apple all those years ago. 

"What's this really about?" Crowley questioned, he really had gotten tired of this beating around the burning bush at this point, Crowley was hungry and there's only so much a Demon with an empty stomach can wait for. Aziraphale shifted, a soft concerned look added lines to his features with eyes that had a lot to say.  
"You lead me into temptation by sharing my bed" the Angel finally stated which also contained sudden confidence.

"Y-you're joking" stuttered words fell out of his mouth mostly out of surprise, it sounded ridiculous, he tempts the Angel on a daily basis on purpose, for fun, Crowley knows when he's causing temptation and it certainly wasn't when he was asleep, was it even possible? The Demon doubted it.

"Why would I joke? You tempted me, that's what you do"  
"When you're awake! Bloody Heaven's sake Angel you're being ridiculous" Crowley stated with mild aggression as he stood, unable to handle the physical contact any longer.

"God does not want anyone who is not married to share a bed, it creates temptations, you know, to copulate before marriage" those last few words were mumbled, almost whispered on the Holy being's lips as a rather obvious red darkened the skin of his cheeks.

Demonic facial features scrunched up in a way Crowley always did whenever he was involved with something he hated, steps were taken towards the door only to circle back to the place he originally stood. There was no believing this, this, whatever 'this' was was laughable, except he couldn't even cause himself to snicker. 

"This is stupid, you're being stupid, this is stupid!"  
"Almighty decided all that with the great plan, you know-"  
"To Heaven with the great plan!" he hissed bitterly.  
"I didn't tempt you to do anything, we have no reason to fuck, no reason to do anything, no reason to marry, no nothing, got it? Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing" Crowley spat cruelly before storming out this room, slamming that door shut before Aziraphale even had a chance to say one more word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. That lead into angst pretty quickly. Sorry. 
> 
> This piece of work is dedicated to my partner.

**Author's Note:**

> A spontaneous piece of work I started for my partner and decided to publish it at 6am in the morning while working a nightshift.


End file.
